Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Family Happiness by Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy (books to read this summer .TXT) 📖
- Author: Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy
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arm.”
As if that would prevent me from wetting my feet! But to us three this
seemed perfectly natural at the time. Though he never used to offer me his
arm, I now took it of my own accord, and he saw nothing strange in it. We
all went down from the veranda together. That whole world, that sky, that
garden, that air, were different from those that I knew.
We were walking along an avenue, and it seemed to me, whenever I looked
ahead, that we could go no farther in the same direction, that the world of
the possible ended there, and that the whole scene must remain fixed for
ever in its beauty. But we still moved on, and the magic wall kept parting
to let us in; and still we found the familiar garden with trees and paths
and withered leaves. And we were really walking along the paths, treading on
patches of light and shade; and a withered leaf was really crackling under
my foot, and a live twig brushing my face. And that was really he, walking
steadily and slowly at my side, and carefully supporting my arm; and that
was really Katya walking beside us with her creaking shoes. And that must be
the moon in the sky, shining down on us through the motionless branches.
But at each step the magic wall closed up again behind us and in front, and
I ceased to believe in the possibility of advancing father — I ceased to
believe in the reality of it all.
“Oh, there’s a frog!” cried Katya.
“Who said that? and why?” I thought. But then I realized it was Katya, and
that she was afraid of frogs. Then I looked at the ground and saw a little
frog which gave a jump and then stood still in front of me, while its tiny
shadow was reflected on the shining clay of the path.
“You’re not afraid of frogs, are you?” he asked.
I turned and looked at him. Just where we were there was a gap of one tree
in the lime avenue, and I could see his face clearly — it was so handsome
and so happy!
Though he had spoken of my fear of frogs, I knew that he meant to say, “I
love you, my dear one!” “I love you, I love you” was repeated by his look,
by his arm; by the light, the shadow, and the air all repeated the same
words.
We had gone all round the garden. Katya’s short steps had kept up with us,
but now she was tired and out of breath. She said it was time to go in; and
I felt very sorry for her. “Poor thing!” I thought; “why does not she feel
as we do? why are we not all young and happy, like this night and like him
and me?”
We went in, but it was a long time before he went away, though the cocks had
crowed, and everyone in the house was asleep, and his horse, tethered under
the window, snorted continually and stamped his hoof on the burdocks. Katya
never reminded us of the hour, and we sat on talking of the merest trifles
and not thinking of the time, till it was past two. The cocks were crowing
for the third time and the dawn was breaking when he rode away. He said good
by as usual and made no special allusion; but I knew that from that day he
was mine, and that I should never lose him now. As soon as I had confessed
to myself that I loved him, I took Katya into my confidence. She rejoiced in
the news as was touched by my telling her; but she was actually able — poor
thing! — to go to bed and sleep! For me, I walked for a long, long time
about the veranda; then I went down to the garden where, recalling each
word, each movement, I walked along the same avenues through which I had
walked with him. I did not sleep at all that night, and saw sunrise and
early dawn for the first time in my life. And never again did I see such a
night and such a morning. “Only why does he not tell me plainly that he
loves me?” I thought; “what makes him invent obstacles and call himself old,
when all is so simple and so splendid? What makes him waste this golden time
which may never return? Let him say “I love you” — say it in plain words;
let him take my hand in his and ben over it and say “I love you”. Let him
blush and look down before me; and then I will tell him all. No! not tell
him, but throw my arms round him and press close to him and weep.” But then
a thought came to me — “What if I am mistaken and he does not love me?”
I was startled by this fear — God knows where it might have led me. I
recalled his embarrassment and mine, when I jumped down to him in the
orchard; and my heart grew very heavy. Tears gushed from my eyes, and I
began to pray. A strange thought occurred too me, calming me and bringing
hope with it. I resolved to begin fasting on that day, to take the Communion
on my birthday, and on that same day to be betrothed to him.
How this result would come to pass I had no idea; but from that moment I
believed and felt sure it would be so. The dawn had fully come and the
laborers were getting up when I went back to my room.
The Fast of the Assumption falling in august, no one in the house was
surprised by my intention of fasting.
During the whole of the week he never once came to see us; but, far from
being surprised or vexed or made uneasy by his absence, I was glad of it — I
did not expect him until my birthday. Each day during the week I got up
early. while the horses were being harnessed, I walked in the garden alone,
turning over in my mind the sins of the day before, and considering what I
must do today, so as to be satisfied with my day and not spoil it by a
singlesin. It seemed so easy to me then to abstain from sin altogether; only
a trifling effort seemed necessary. When the horses came round, I got into
the carriage with Katya or one of the maids, and we drove to the church two
miles away. While entering the church, I always recalled the paryer for
those who “come unto the Temple in the fear of God”, and tried to get just
that frame of mind when mounting the two grass-grown steps up to the
building. At that hour there were not more than a dozen worshippers —
household servants or peasant women keeping the Fast. They bowed to me, and
I returned their bows with studied humility. Then, with what seemed to me a
great effort of courage, I went myself and got candles from the man who kept
them, an old soldier and an Elder; and I placed the candles before the
icons. throught the central door of the altar-screen I could see the altar
cloth which my mother had worked; on the screen were the two angels which
had seemed so big to me when I was little, and the dove with a golden halo
which had fascinated me long ago. Behind the choir stood the old batter
font, where I had been christened myself and stood godmother to so many of
the servants’ children. the old priest came out, wearing a cope made of the
pall that had covered my father’s coffin, and began to read in the same
voice that I had heard all my life — at services held in our house, at
Sonya’s christening, at memorial services for my father, and at my mother’s
funeral. The same old quavering voice of the deacon rose in the choir; and
the same old woman, whom I could remember at every service in that church,
crouched by the wall, fising her streaming eyes on an icon in the choir,
pressing her folded fingers against her faded kerchief, and muttering with
her toothless gums. And these objects were no longer merely curious to me,
merely interesting from old recollections — each had become important and
sacred in my eyes and seemed charged with profound meaning. I listened to
each word of the prayrers and tried to suit my feeling to it; and if I
failed to understand, I prayed silently that God would enlighten me, or made
up a prayer of my own in place of what I had failed to catch. When the
penitential prayers were repeated, I recalled my past life, and that
innocent childish past seemed to me so black when compared to the present
brightness of my soul, that I wept and was horrified at myself; but I felt
too that all those sins would be forgiven, and that if my sins had been even
greater, my repentance would be all the sweeter. At the end of the service
when the priest said, “The blessing of the Lord be upon you!” I semed to
feel an immediate sensation of physical well-being, of a mysterious light
and warmth that instantly filled my heart. The service over, the priest came
and asked me whether he should come to our house to say Mass, and what hour
would suit me; and I thanked him for the suggestion, intended, as I thought,
to please me, but said that I would come to church instead, walking or
driving.
“Is that not too much trouble?” he asked. and I was at a loss for an answer,
fearing to commit a sin of pride.
After the Mass, if Katya was not with me, I always sent the carriage home
and walked back alone, bowing humbly to all who passed, and trying to find
an opportunity of giving help or advice. I was eager to sacrifice myself for
someone, to help in lifting a fallen cart, to rock a child’s cradle, to give
up the path to others by stepping into the mud. One evening I heard the
bailiff report to Katya that Simon, one of our serfs, had come to beg some
boards to make a coffin for his daughter, and a ruble to pay the priest for
the funeral; the bailiff had given what he asked. “Are they as poor as
that?” I asked. “Very poor, Miss,” the bailiff answered; “they have no salt
to their food.” My heart ached to hear this, and yet I felt a kind of
pleasure too. Pretending to katya that I was merely going for a walk, I ran
upstairs, got out all my money (it was very little but it was all I had),
crossed myself, and started off alone, through the veranda and the garden,
on my way to Simon’s hut. It stood at the end of the village, and no one saw
me as I went up to the window, placed the money on the sill, and tapped on
the pane. Someone came out, making the door creak, and hailed me; but I
hurried home, cold and chaking with fear like a criminal. Katya asked where
I had been and what was the matter with me; but I did not answer, and did
not even understand what she was saying. Everything suddenly seemed to me so
pety and insignificant. I locked myself up in my own room, and walked up and
down alone for a long time, unable
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